


Backup

by Valaxiom



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angela as Team Mom, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Concussions, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Missing Scene, Poor Medical Knowledge, Post-Alive, Team Dynamics, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-14 00:16:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7144400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valaxiom/pseuds/Valaxiom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fight with Widowmaker in King's Row, Lena is alone and injured. Overwatch looks after its own, even if the organization just got back on its feet.<br/>Featuring Mercy as Team Mom, Winston as Team Big Brother, and Reinhardt as Team Cool Grandpa. Takes place immediately after the "Recall" and "Alive" cinematic shorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! There is no graphic violence in this fic. There ARE descriptions of injuries, but nothing gory or detailed. The T rating is for language. 
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> UPDATE (July 14th): Some minor details were adjusted to better fit with the available canon.

Unsurprisingly, being shot at, thrown off several tall buildings, and slammed against a wall whilst falling off a building _hurt._

Tracer coughed violently, grasping at her chronal accelerator. It was sparking and had been dented at some point during the fight with Widowmaker, but as she wasn’t immediately fading out of existence, Tracer assumed that any damage was non-fatal and nothing to worry about right now. Unfortunately, blinking or recalling her time was probably a no-go until she had Winston check her accelerator over.

Her ribs on the other hand, were a bloody mess. She was sure that at least a few of them were cracked, maybe broken, but Lena didn’t have the time or medical know-how to do a full diagnosis. First things first: she had to get out of the area, and fast, before any security forces apprehended her as a suspect. As a known (and extremely recognizable) former Overwatch agent, she’d be at the top of any competent investigator’s list. The fact that she lived in the area, plus the dozens of phones which had no doubt captured her being blasted into the air by Talon’s assassin, meant that her apartment was no longer safe.

She’d have to call for backup.

Lena dragged herself to her feet and hurriedly limped along, dialing the temporary Overwatch HQ at Gibraltar. She kept away from any main avenues; no doubt the entire area would be cordoned off to search for Mondatta’s killer. The search would be in vain, of course. Widowmaker’s handlers were far too clever to leave any traces of their work, and any trail would have been covered long ago. The organization was a ghost, but they were good at what they did, much to Lena’s dismay.

Her comm started beeping and she quickly patched the call through to her earphones.

“Lena?”

The relief she felt from hearing a familiar voice did wonders for the pain in her chest. “Hiya Winston! I’ve, uh, run into a bit of a situation. I’ll need an extraction as soon as you can send someone," she whispered quietly.

“What kind of situation? How urgent is it?” asked Winston. He sounded concerned, but not overly panicked. Apparently, news of Mondatta’s death hadn’t spread yet. How long had it been since she’d blinked away from the shot that killed the Shambali leader? It felt like hours, but had probably only been minutes. Tracer’s awareness of time was understandably somewhat fuzzy- a side effect of being able to change her own position in the timestream.

“Well love, I’m probably about to be the subject of a manhunt, my apartment isn’t safe to return to, I’m injured, my chronal accelerator m-may be on the fritz, and Tekhartha Mondatta has just been assassinated in King’s Row by Widowmaker,” she said. The sudden voice crack when she’d mentioned her broken accelerator startled her, and apparently Winston. She heard some sudden crashes from his end of the call.

“Give me a moment, Lena, I’m going to get Athena on this. Keep moving and get as far away from that area as you can while I take care of this.”

“Thanks, Winston,” she said in a small voice. He didn’t reply, and she could hear his muffled voice on the other end of the line. It was comforting as she darted through dark alleys and clutched at her ribs.

“Lena, are you able to make it to that safehouse we set up years ago? Near the train station?”

To Lena’s intense dismay, she sniffled. “Y-yes. On Thomas street, yeah?”

“That’s the one. Just sit tight there and wait for extraction. The team should be there within a couple hours. Will you be all right on your own?”

“I-I think so. Just, my ribs hurt like the dickens, and I think I might have a bit of a concussion. I’ll be fine though,” she added hastily, before Winston could start making panicked noises. “I mean, I’m walking straight, and I don’t feel like falling into a coma or some rubbish, so I can make it to the safehouse.”

“Okay, Lena. I’d stay on the call with you if I could, but if we keep talking for much longer, the odds of someone... else listening in go up. Call me if you run into any serious trouble, but otherwise, just get to the safehouse as quickly as possible and try to patch yourself up.”

“Gotcha. Thanks, mate.”

“See you soon, Lena.” He ended the call, and Tracer kept walking through the dark streets. Every time she saw a dark figure that miiiight have been a Talon agent or Police officers, she turned around and doubled back, making her route every bit as convoluted as her mind. Being followed to the safehouse would make an already-terrible night much worse.


	2. Recover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena contemplates the fight she was in with Widowmaker, and does her best to deal with the injuries she sustained in the aforementioned fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated, just like I promised! The good thing about the world of Overwatch is the lack of world-building; it gives fanfic writers a bit of free rein with details. Of course, the bad thing about the world of Overwatch is ALSO the lack of world-building. Do they have books still? What kind of medical supplies are standard for first-aid kits?  
> Most importantly, do they have glowsticks???  
> Anyway, please enjoy!

By the time she finally reached the safehouse, Tracer was dead on her feet. Her ribs were screaming, her head was pounding like she’d been smacked repeatedly in the head with a hammer, and judging from the level of soreness, she was fairly sure that most of her body was going to be covered in horrific bruises from the fight. Luckily, getting into the safehouse was no difficulty for her, even with a concussion. The door was still synced to her DNA, even after several years, and the lock signaled that it was open by lighting up with a blue glow which was almost the exact same shade as her chronal accelerator.

She stumbled inside, making sure to close the door and double check the lock. Then again, if Talon had somehow managed to follow her, she was probably dead anyway. In her current state, it would be a struggle to fend off a single mugger, let alone a team of highly-trained shock troops.  

All Overwatch safehouses had been designed to be versatile but well-hidden. This one was an inconspicuous flat on a quiet side street. Unless it had been officially decommissioned, the apartment would have everything needed to get an unlucky agent back on their feet and ready for action. 

In the hall closet were several changes of generic clothes, from which Tracer picked out a slightly-too-large t-shirt that said “I <3 London” and some sweatpants. It was a relief to change out of her dirty, sweaty suit. There wasn’t a lot of blood on it, luckily. Dry-cleaning was expensive.

Lena avoided looking at the bruises and awful discolourations beneath her harness and pulled the shirt over her accelerator. The way the faint blue glow kept flickering randomly was obvious in the dark hall. The mechanism's status wasn't available, which was just as worrisome as the fact that it kept making sounds like the fan of an overheating laptop. 

Lena made her way to the kitchen. All the electricity was still functional, but the fridge was void of food, aside from some random condiments and an ancient-looking jar of peaches. No matter; her stomach felt too queasy to make solid food sound appealing anyways.

The freezer was completely empty, which sadly meant no fresh ice packs for her. She settled for pulling out the well-stocked first aid kit from the bathroom and using several quick-ice packs on the areas that hurt the worst. She cracked them like glowsticks and felt the relief of coolness immediately. Tracer sighed and collapsed on a kitchen chair.

The small container of painkillers from the kit was tempting, but she was reluctant to do more than sit and wait for the Overwatch team Winston was sending- Mercy would kill her if she’d accidentally messed up her own healing somehow. Plus, she wouldn’t be able to give an accurate assessment of her body’s status if she was numbed to it.

Speaking of being numb, why hadn’t Widowmaker killed her? It wasn’t as though she had lacked opportunity- when Lena had been crumpled on the ground after being slammed into a brick wall and electrocuted by some wires, it would have been child’s play for the assassin to plant a bullet in her brain. Hell, her entire chest was lit up with a massive target.

Lena knew of Amelie Lacroix- her husband, Gerard, had been an essential member of the original Overwatch team, and his death had hurt them badly. Particularly the unusual manner of his death; getting killed in your sleep by your crazy brainwashed spouse was pretty messed up, even by their standards. The worst part of his death had been the mistrust it had sown. The knowledge that anyone close to you could be an unwitting sleeper agent for some shadowy anti-Overwatch organization was bound to encourage paranoia, even in the most normal of circumstances. Working for Overwatch, with its globe-spanning missions and high expectations, did not qualify as normal circumstances.

Lena's odd status of being the first sufferer of chronal dissociation wasn't even particularly unique: there had been one agent who would spontaneously combust herself and everything around her at random intervals due to some quirk of genetics and poorly-thought-out mechanical enhancements. Another had been able to plan field tactics with uncanny accuracy and speed, coordinating everyone on his team with borderline-obsessive detail. Still another agent had been capable of altering their facial features and appearance to an unparalleled level, creating the best spy and recon agent Overwatch had seen for years. Winston's situation as not only a genetically enhanced gorilla (oops; scientist), but the sole survivor of an experimental space base let him fit in perfectly. 

Hell, it was almost more unusual for Overwatch agents to come from perfectly ordinary backgrounds. 

Anyway, after killing her husband, Amelie went on to become one of the most infamous assassins on the planet, known ironically as Widowmaker. Talon had altered her genetic profile and body to turn her into the perfect murderer, with a slow-beating heart, enhanced reflexes, and absolutely no pity. She'd even been the cause of Ana Amari's supposed death- the decorated sniper had never been found after encountering the assassin. Widowmaker was a legendary killer who harboured no emotions aside from anger. All of which made Widowmaker’s reluctance to kill Tracer all the more puzzling.

Lena grumbled to herself and wandered over to the small living room with a handful of quick-ices. She didn’t dare connect to the internet with any of her own devices, not with the all-too-real possibility of her IP being tracked by either the authorities or Talon. The safehouse didn’t have internet of its own, no doubt one of the unendingly-paranoid features Torbjorn had installed.

Figuring she had time to kill, Lena curled up on the tiny room’s sofa and tried to read one of the boring-looking old fashioned books she’d found on a shelf. Tracer hadn’t picked up an actual, physical book in years; she loved to read, but with the sheer number of books she could carry around digitally, it seemed a bit ridiculous to confine herself to only what she could carry. The words swam before her eyes. Before she could stop herself, she’d dozed off on top of the novel.

 _Mercy is going to kill me for falling asleep_ , she thought dully before her exhausted body turned out the lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow me on tumblr at andshesbackinthegame.tumblr.com (Overwatch only blog) or thirteen-magpies.tumblr.com (main blog)!


	3. Collection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The extraction team arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates sure are lovely, aren't they? Thanks to everyone who's commented/bookmarked/kudos-ed this fic so far, it really does mean a lot!

Mercy did not kill her for falling asleep.

Tracer was woken up by a rough hand on her shoulder shaking her awake, and before she was fully conscious, she’d yanked one of her pistols out of its holster and aimed it at her assailant.

“Hey, woah. You are safe, it is us,” said a familiar voice.

“Reinhardt? That you, love?” she asked blurrily. God, her body hurt. Her quick-draw impulse hadn’t taken her recent beating into account properly, and she wasn’t used to feeling like a punching bag. Not since leaving active duty.

“Indeed! We are here to extract you, my dear!” His jovial accent was at odds with the situation, as was the ridiculous volume. Tracer winced. Reinhardt was not good at using an inside voice, and her headache felt even worse now than it had before she’d fallen asleep.

“Reinhardt, give her some space and let me through.” Angela’s cross voice made itself heard behind Reinhardt’s mass. The two of them barely fit in the safehouse living room, and Lena felt slightly claustrophobic. Tracer started to try to sit up, but Angela moved around the Crusader like a snake and pinned her to the couch. She shone a pen light into Tracer’s face, and the injured agent winced from the sudden brightness.

“Ow! Angie, what the hell!”

“You stay still. You’ve got three broken ribs, what looks like a serious concussion, and electrical burns all over your body. You are not going to move a muscle until I get you into an actual medical facility to have you checked out. With all the extra wiring you have running through your body, it’s a miracle you weren’t fried from whatever gave you those burns,” said Angela.

“I got tossed off a building and hit some wires on the way down,” Tracer mumbled.

Angela looked pained. “You,” she said in a tone of bereavement, “are a walking medical miracle who loves to tempt fate.”

“Is this a bad time to mention that that wasn’t even the first time I got tossed off a building in that fight?”

“Yes,” Reinhardt stage-whispered to her from the kitchen. Angela frowned.

“Have you taken anything for the pain since the fight? Or eaten or drank anything aside from water?”

“No, but I think I probably need to,” Lena mumbled.

“Can you tell me what you feel the most serious injuries you have are? In order from most-to-least painful, if you please,” said Angela.

“My ribs hurt a lot.”

“That’s not surprising. I will give you some painkillers as soon as we get to the transport. What else?”

“My head hurts too. And my chronal accelerator got all bashed up by that fall, and it’s been blinking in a way that’s rather unsettling. I gotta have Winston take a look at it as soon as he can. He didn’t break anything in his lab, did he? I heard crashing over the comm earlier, and he sounded a bit alarmed when I called him.” Tracer’s thoughts weren’t exactly following a very linear path, and she had an unpleasant suspicion that the concussion was mucking with her mind. Angela was looking more and more unhappy.

“I’ll let him know about your accelerator when we’re on our way. Either way, we need to leave here immediately. It’s not secure. Do you have anything you want to grab before we go?”

“Just my suit. It needs a bit of a wash, but it’s got sentimental value, y’know?”

“Okay. I’ll grab it. Reinhardt, carry her to the transport.”

“I can walk!” Tracer said indigently.

“Not if I say you can’t.”

“It’s my torso and head that got beat to hell, my legs are perfectly fine!”

“You have a concussion and a variety of other inflictions at the moment. Your judgement is not what it would normally be. I could just sedate you if you would rather pretend to maintain your dignity, but I’d rather not waste any supplies on your pride. Now, are you going to act like an adult, or should I get out the longest, scariest needle I have?” said Angela coolly.

“Fine,” Tracer grumbled. Reinhardt was visibly suppressing a grin as he picked her up.

“You’re so tiny!”

“Shut up!”


	4. Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They make it to Watchpoint: Gibraltar. Second-to-last chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just... have too many feelings about Mercy. As someone who plays support a lot in-game, the intimate understanding I have of how FRUSTRATING it is when your team mates get hurt is very helpful when writing in her point of view. 
> 
> Also, poor Tracer. She has to sit still or else the Team Mom will be mad.

Lena slept through most of the hour-long ride to Watchpoint Gibraltar, dozing on and off. Whatever pain meds Angela had given her had managed to reduce the pain in her chest to a dull ache, and by the time the transport landed and Reinhardt had carried her straight to the base’s medical bay, everything had receded to a comfortable distance. The cot she was sitting on, despite its sterile character, was looking more and more tempting by the moment to Tracer. She was dimly aware of Reinhardt's heavy hand ruffling her hair before he rumbled something about arm-wrestling Torbjorn. His heavy footsteps as he left the medbay made the delicate surgical instruments rattle like wind chimes. 

“I’m going to do a quick evaluation, then you can rest some more. How are you feeling? ... Lena?”

“Hm? Sorry love, zoned out for a moment there.” Tracer yawned.

“I asked how you’re feeling.”

“Just grand, honest!”

Angela looked at the dopey grin on the agent’s face and stifled a sigh. Tracer was obviously concussed, but the only thing that could fix that was time and rest. Angela had wrapped Lena’s ribs while they were on route while Tracer had alternated between nonsensical half-awake babbling and unconsciously drooling on Reinhardt. Trying to get any sense out of her now would be pretty much impossible.

Despite Angela’s nanobot tech, Tracer still needed to rest. Angela’s nanobiology could speed along the natural healing process and fend off infections, but the pain of knitting together broken ribs and internal bleeding would remain. Unfortunately, Lena had a high pain threshold and a low sense of self-preservation. It had always been nightmare to have Tracer confined to the medical bay, especially back when she had first returned from the Slipstream and was still getting used to her new abilities and limits. The sheer number of broken bones the young woman had acquired from accidentally blinking off of ledges or recalling back into a poor situation was simply astonishing. Lena Oxton’s medical history was the stuff of Angela’s nightmares, but at least she’d managed to keep the girl alive so far. One more scuffle with a terrorist assassin wouldn’t be the end for Tracer.

 “Drink some water, dear. You probably feel nauseous still, yes?” Angela passed Tracer a glass of water and a handful of pills. The last thing Mercy wanted was to have Tracer bouncing around and pretending to be fine.

“I’m not very hungry.” Lena made a face when she swallowed the painkillers and chased them with the water. Angela had to resist the urge to cheer; the painkillers also doubled as sleeping meds, which, judging by the way Lena’s head was already nodding, probably weren’t necessary. It never hurt to be careful though, and with Tracer’s chronal dissociation, her metabolism defied explanation- most of the time, any medication Mercy gave to her had little-to-no effect.

“That’s normal after a head wound. I’ll make sure that there will be some food here when you wake up next that will be easy on your stomach. Winston will be in soon to check over your chronal accelerator, but you can nap for now. He’ll wake you up when he gets back.”

“Back from where?” Tracer asked, or tried to. She was pretty sure that whatever sentence she uttered bore no resemblance to English. As soon as her head hit the cot’s pillow, she was fast asleep, the pain medication and sheer exhaustion finally taking their toll on her small body.

Angela rubbed her forehead and sat in the chair next to Lena’s bed. All was well; their desperate rush to rendezvous with their team mate had gone according to plan, and Lena would undoubtedly recover well and be back to her unbearably energetic self within a matter of days. Yet Angela still felt uneasy. The stress of having to recover a wounded Overwatch agent brought back a lot of unpleasant memories from the original organization.

Sometimes, Mercy had been too late.

(Ana Amari)

Sometimes, she’d barely been able to keep her friends alive.

(Genji Shimada)

Sometimes, they’d hated her for it.

(Gabriel Reyes)

Angela shook her head. There was no point in mourning the past; all there was to do now was move forward. And Mercy, despite all her misgivings about Winston’s decision to initiate the recall sequence, was secretly glad to be able to see her friends again.

“Ach, _mein liebling_ , why must you make us worry so much?” Mercy quietly typed away on a holopad and kept watch over her injured friend. Angela had lost too many of her old comrades, and she was never going to let that happen again. Not in the new Overwatch. Not on her watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I get that German phrase right? I had to use google translate for it, but it looks correct off-hand. If I didn't, please say so in the comments, possibly with a correction! 
> 
> Ana Amari was Pharah's mom. She was part of the original Overwatch, but we don't know what happened to her yet, aside from the fact that her relationship with Pharah was strained. I think she probably died while working for Overwatch, but that's honestly just speculation. 
> 
> UPDATE (July 14th): ANA AMARI IS A BADASS AND I WOULD LET HER KICK MY ASS. TEAM GRANDMA IS AMAZING.
> 
> There is also in-game dialogue which hints that Angela saved Reaper/ was responsible for his current condition.


	5. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena wakes up and gets to have visitors- sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's read and enjoyed this! The reaction I've gotten for this story has been so positive, and you all make my day, with every kudos and comment and bookmark! Keep an eye out for my other stories- I'll be filling in some of the blanks throughout Overwatch's history, and depending on when the next animated shorts come out/ what they have in them, I might change or alter some things. 
> 
> Also, a special thanks to the anon Myr, who corrected my google-translated German. You're fantastic!

When Tracer finally woke up, she felt great. A little hungry, yeah, but the painful aftermath of the beating she had taken at Widowmaker's hands in King’s Row was pretty much gone. Lena could hear paper rustling nearby and pretended to still be asleep. Was Angela still here? Tracer didn’t think she needed another lecture from the Team Mom, not when she felt completely fine.

But when Tracer caught a whiff of the distinctive smell of bananas dipped in peanut butter instead of antiseptic, she immediately opened her eyes and sat up, grinning.

“Hiya, big guy! What’cha doin’?”

“Lena!” Winston dropped his paperwork, which had been balanced on his lap. “You’re awake! How are you feeling?”

“Tip-top, love. A bit peckish, but otherwise I’m in the clear. Angela’s worked her miracle medical magic again, not that that was ever in doubt,” she said. To emphasize her point, Lena stretched out her arms, noting with no small amount of relief that her chronal accelerator was back to its non-dented, non-flickering self. Winston must have repaired it while she was sleeping. How on earth hadn’t she woken up?

“Oh, Lena, when you called we were all so worried. You sounded awful, and with me initiating the Recall earlier that day and Talon’s agent involved in the shooting... we feared the worst.” Winston sounded utterly wretched. Did he blame himself for this?

Tracer’s smile drooped a bit at that. “Winston, you know I always come out on top. You don’t need to worry about me, especially when there are more important things to get concerned about. Besides, with a group like ours, how could anything stop us? Speaking of, who’s been confirmed for the roster since I last checked in?”

“Well, Reinhardt, Torbjorn, and Mercy have all confirmed their reactivation, as you know already. We’ve received a tentative yes from Genji, and Lucio, Hana, Fareeha, and Mei have all expressed interest and are here now. That’s where I was before, when you came in; I was arranging transport for our new members. Several others have declined, but with how wide the recall signal went, there could be more agents or interested parties arriving soon on their own merit. We’ll have to be on the lookout for moles and spies, but for the most part, all the new recruits seem clean. On another note, Mei and some of the others wanted to come visit you, but Mercy said no.”

Tracer stuck out her tongue. “Team Mum strikes another blow against fun.”

Winston chuckled. “I was allowed to visit because I had to fix your accelerator, and because Mercy said I was the least likely to allow you to escape before she gave you a clean bill of health. She also needed to sleep, and I promised I’d babysit.”

“Pffft. I am a grown adult, thank-you-very-much.”

“You’re pouting, Lena.”

“Am not!”

Winston laughed again. “You’ll get along great with some of the new recruits. Hana and Lucio are around your age. It’s a bit hard to be sure, what with your personal time being mixed up, but you’re certainly all around the same place mentally.”

Lena playfully punched him in the shoulder for that.

“You can meet them once I convince Angela to let you out of here. I think you lot will be staying in the same area of the barracks for the time being.”

“That’s great! When are you going to officially address everyone?” Winston looked nervous at that. Tracer remembered that public speaking had never been his favourite thing to do, but without any other candidates, the genetically enhanced gorilla scientist had become their ragtag group’s de facto leader by virtue of his initiative and energy. Reinhardt and Mercy, due to their combined experience, had been unofficially promoted to joint seconds-in-command, with Tracer filling in the spot for sheer optimism. Despite his own uncertainty in his abilities, Tracer was sure that her friend had it in him to take up the legacy left to them by Morrison.

Tracer wistfully recalled Jack Morrison, from back before it all went to shit. A strong commander and an inspiring leader, he’d been the soul of Overwatch. They’d jokingly called him Team Dad, and no matter how much he grouched at them for it, Tracer knew that Jack had seen them as a family, not as an assignment. After his disappearance, things had fallen apart so fast...

But this time, they’d do better.

“I was thinking we’d give it another day or so before I officially welcome everyone and explain our mission,” said Winston. “That would also give you time to be sure that you’ve recovered fully. Angela was very insistent on you resting, and I have no desire to interfere with her orders. Dr. Ziegler is a very scary woman sometimes. She told me to make sure you didn’t run around and that you ate the soup- oh, curses, I was supposed to get you the soup!”

To Tracer’s amusement, the scientist rushed over to the little office attached to the medical bay. Winston’s frame barely fit into the small room; Lena could hear him cursing to himself beneath his breath as he fetched the food. When he returned a few minutes later, carefully holding a slightly-cracked bowl filled with the soup and a small plate of crackers, Lena was poking at her repaired chronal accelerator.

“How’d you fix this while I was asleep?” she asked, before slurping at the soup. There were carrots in it, much to her delight. Clearly, Mercy had either done some cooking or intimidated someone else into preparing home-cooked chicken noodle soup, because standard rations generally didn’t extend to comfort food.

“Oh, it was a simple fix. All I had to do was remove the over-harness and do repairs on that. A few wires got knocked out of place by whatever hit you, and the electric surge that went through it afterwards prevented the accelerator from repairing itself and recharging like it normally would. The only actions affected were your abilities to change your position in time. Thus, why you were not yanked from our time stream. If it makes you feel any better, you weren’t in any danger of going back to your previous state,” he said. Winston’s voice had softened slightly, probably from Tracer’s expression; if her face was any indication of how the thought of going back into the slipstream made her feel, Winston was probably going into overprotective-big-brother mode.

Logically, Lena knew that the likelihood of her ever regressing back to being a ghost was extremely unlikely- the harness that allowed her to speed up or revert her personal time stream wasn’t a major part of the technology anchoring her, and it was designed to be able to take a hit. The attachment was essentially an upgrade for the accelerator, in addition to providing armour for her unfortunately-obvious Achilles heel. The vital parts of the chronal accelerator had been surgically implanted directly within her body back when she had finally been saved from her incurable fate. Theoretically, the device could survive anything, up to and including an EMP blast, random electrical shocks, and submersion in water. In practice, Lena kept the sturdy protective harness on most of the time and wasn’t willing to test the limits of the only piece of technology keeping her in the present time.

“That’s brilliant, love. Honestly, with friends like you and Mercy keeping us in the fight, Talon ought to be shaking in their fancy terrorist boots. We’re a bloody force to be reckoned with, right?”

“Correct. And by my calculations, with the heroes we’ve got on our team, there’s no way we can lose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all folks! I have some more things planned, but that's it for this chapter of Overwatch. Casual reminder that I have my main blog at thirteen-magpies.tumblr.com, and my Overwatch blog at andshesbackinthegame.tumblr.com.


End file.
